


when the universe has expanded

by your_bespoke_psychopath



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, achronological
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bespoke_psychopath/pseuds/your_bespoke_psychopath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows he should be careful: she might be dangerous and her secrets might cut him deep and deadly, but right at this very moment – looking at her smile and hearing her laughter – he can’t bring himself to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the universe has expanded

**#164.**

_‘That woman is not dragging me into anything!’_

He said these words to Amy just a few hours ago and oh, how everything has changed. One thing is sure: River Song did not drag him into anything. She didn’t have to. He followed her straight into the heart of the adventure, without hesitation or fear. And now, standing on the rocky beach of Alfava Metraxis, he knows that he’ll follow River again.

He knows he should be careful: she might be dangerous and her secrets might cut him deep and deadly, but right at this very moment – looking at her smile and hearing her laughter – he can’t bring himself to care.

 

**#813.**

He rarely sleeps. There are a few reasons for that.

First: why should he sleep when he has all of time and space at his disposal? So many planets to visit. So many worlds to save, so many parties to crash, so many hats to try on. Why would anyone want to sleep if they could do all these things? And even if he ever manages to save all the planets (doubtful), and sees all the wonders of the universe (unlikely), he still has his ship. His Old Girl is always changing, so she still has so many secrets and so many rooms unknown to him. He could spend another lifetime discovering them and he would never get bored. Why would he choose sleep when he can choose all of that?

There is also another reason: he dreams.

During sleep his minds is just as active as when he’s awake and alert. The difference is that during the day, he can control what he thinks of. When he closes his eyes at night, everything he tries to keep hidden, pushed back and forgotten - it resurfaces.

He dreams about his companions. He dreams about his lost home and places he’s been to. Sometimes his dreams are nightmares: he sees his companions die in pain, he sees Gallifrey burning, he relieves every defeat over and over again. But more often, his dreams are happy ones: he relieves his victories and sees Gallifrey standing proud and high. He dreams about his companions living wholesome and blissful lives. He dreams about their triumphs and their smiles. He dreams about their lives – they wonderful human lives – and these dreams make him happy.

He also dreams about River.

But dreams about her – just like anything connected to her – are different than dreams about the others. He cannot distinguish between the nightmares and the dreams supposed to bring him peace and relief.

In some of his dreams he re-lives the Library. He re-lives it as a third-party observer: he watches and listens to everything that was said and done there. He hears all the things the younger him said, he observes every emotion on her face. He listens to her agonising screams when she connects the wires. In his dreams, he loses her again. And again. And again. And again.

When the first time he woke up after the nightmare about The Library – River in the suit, _‘hello sweetie’, ‘who are you?’, ‘you watch us run’_ , the crack of electricity, the sparks in the air, the choking smell of burning flesh – he thought that there cannot be anything worse.

He was wrong. There _are_ worse dreams.

He dreams about all the things he took away from her. He dreams about her alternative timelines.

Sometimes, she’s a doctor, dedicated to saving her patient lives. Other times, she’s a lawyer, fighting for her clients. She’s an archaeologist, dirty from dust, surrounded by the beauty of incomplete things. She’s a criminal, a hired gun; she’s a policewoman; she’s a teacher; she’s a spy; a devoted wife to a good man.

No matter what she does in these dreams, no matter where she lives, there’s one constant: she’s always happy. Her joy shines clearly and brightly, not obscured by any shadows. There’s also something else: in these dreams, she’s never alone. There’s always someone by her side. Someone who loves her. Someone who makes her feel adored and someone who cherishes her, someone who makes her laugh. Someone who is there for her, no matter what.

It’s never him in these dreams. He’s not the one who makes her happy. He’s not the one who loves her. It’s not his arms that hug her. It’s not his hands that glide over her skin at nights, it’s not his lips that kiss her. It’s not his name she shouts in pleasure.

It all makes him hiss, livid with blinding anger: these faceless people make his hearts twist with jealousy, they make him want to brand her, to imprint on her, to leave his mark on her. It’s a carnal instinct he cannot control. He’s jealous of people that don’t even exist but at the same time, he feels bested by them. They, these people from another lives, from times that never were, from times that never will be - they treated, would treat – her better than he ever did. Than he ever will. They could provide her with something he cannot give her.

(There’s also another dream, a dream he had only once: he dreamt about the sound of tiny feet following him around the console, about tiny hands pressing the stabilisers, about brown curls and wide green eyes taking in the wonders of the universe. He dreamt of lullabies sang in River’s soothing voice, about his cot being used again. He dreamt about that one thing that could never happen, about the thing that will never happen, one thing that cannot happen, no matter how much he sometimes wishes it could.

He hopelessly dreamt about the impossible.)

Sometimes he wonders if she dreams about this too. Does she see the things that could have been? Does she long for a life she saw in a dream, a life that will never happen? Does she despise him for the things she will never have?

He wants to ask her these questions but he’s too afraid to hear her answer.

 

**#756.**

‘River... Can you please stop?’

‘Stop what, sweetie?’

‘You very well know what.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘ _River!_ Your parents are here!’

‘They’re not _here_ , technically.’

‘Yes, they’re in the kitchen and we’re in their living room. I don’t think they’d like to see us like that!’

‘But why? They know we’re married, they surely know we’re fuc-‘

‘River! Stop touching my... leg.’

‘Last time I checked, you’re leg was slightly lower, honey. And not so in the middle. And definitely not so... hard.’

‘River, your parents can come in any second how!’

‘And?’

‘And your father has a sword. And 2000 years of practice in using it.’

‘... Good point.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I much more prefer you with your... leg attached.’

 

**#921.**

Sometimes he wishes he could re-write her.

Re-write them.

Sometimes he wishes he could change her past and her future. He wishes he could wipe that lingering sadness from her eyes. He wishes he’d never have to hear the slight fear in her voice when they meet and compare diaries.

(He can practically hear the tiny voice in her head: _‘Will he know me today? Does he know who I am? Does he love me?’_ )

He wishes things could be different if not for his than at least for her sake. He wishes for a normal life for her. For a childhood that didn’t involve monsters and learning how to kill people. He wishes she had more time with Amy and Rory. He wishes she could stay with him for longer than just a few days here and then. He wants to lift this weight from her shoulders, set her free, make her forget all the dreadful things that happened to her. But he knows he can’t do any of this. Not only because it’d change her and everything she is (and he promised, back there in The Library, _not one line_ ) and she would never forgive him for that. There’s also another reason: changing anything in her past or her future could take her away from him. And he could not deal with that.

It’s all good in theory: he can say that he wishes he could change something but it doesn’t mean he has to do anything, right?

He even tried to imagine it once. River being just another ordinary girl he meets one day, in the midst of chaos.

(Her name would be Melody, not River.)

She would probably catch his attention by saying something smart or doing something brave. Their eyes would meet and he’d realise that she is his equal.

(Except she wouldn’t be. She’d have no knowledge of time and space travel, she wouldn’t know how to fight. She would be surprised by the TARDIS and she’d not know how to fly the Old Girl. She wouldn’t know how to speak Gallifreyan.

She would not be River.)

They would save the world together. Of course they would. And he would ask her to travel with him and maybe she would agree. He’d show her all the mysteries of time and space and watch her absorb them in wonder. He would watch her eyes widen and sparkle. He’d always be one step ahead of her.

He’d try his best not to fall in love with her. And he would fail.

They’d part ways after some time, just like it always happens. He would be left with his hearts broken, like so many times before.

It wouldn’t be much different than what he feels now, but... It would be wrong. It wouldn’t be her, it wouldn’t be his River – the one he loves and the one he wants. She’d be a pale imitation, someone who could be River but isn’t. He doesn’t want that – someone similar to River, someone who would be like her. He wants her, all of her.

He’s a selfish old man. Always has been.

And nothing will change that.

 

**#652.**

‘Sweetie, do you really think it’s a good idea?’

‘It’s a brilliant idea!’

‘Okay, maybe I should have worded it differently. Do you even have any idea what you’re doing?’

‘River! It is my ship. Of course I know what I’m doing.’

‘She’d like to disagree. And is it even worth it?’

‘I can’t believe you’re even asking this question. It’s absolutely worth it! Ouch!’

‘Be careful, honey. And I think you’ll have to use a spanner. Not this one, the smaller one.’

‘I know what I’m doing!’

‘You keep on saying that but that doesn’t look like it. Anyway, let me repeat my previous question: do you really think that re-wiring the kitchen to serve only fish fingers and custard is a good idea?’

‘It is the best idea I’ve ever had! Well... At least in the last week. Or the last three days. Okay, it’s the best idea I’ve had in the last 24 hours. But it’s a brilliant idea!’

‘And do you think it’s going to work?’

‘Why shouldn’t it work?’

‘Because the last time you were fiddling with the TARDIS, the swimming pool broke and was filled with jam instead of water.’

‘That was an improvement if you ask me.’

‘No if you have to land in it!’

‘And who says you have to jump off of things all the time? It’s dangerous!’

‘Don’t change the subject. It took me over 5 hours to wash the jam from my hair.’

‘That’s because you have ridiculous ha-‘

‘Sweetie, if you value your life, do not finish this sentence. Now. What else... Oh yes! Before the jam incident, you turned all the beds into jumping castles.’

‘Because these are cool! Who wouldn’t like to sleep on a jumping castle?’

‘Anyone older than 8 years old?’

‘Oi!’

‘Sweetie. Do us both a favour and stop fiddling with the wires. It can only end up in a disaster.’

‘River. I am over 1000 years old. I know what I’m doing! Aaaaaaaaaagrh!’

‘Doctor! Are you okay?’

‘Yes, yes, I am okay. It was just... Uhm. A small malfunction.’

‘A small malfunction. Right. So why are all the lights out?’

‘Just give me a second... Oh, there. Sorted! You have light now. Happy?’

‘Doctor?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you sure you did everything right?’

‘Of course I did everything right! How many times do I have to tell you that?’

‘So I guess that the herd of sheep is supposed to be in the console room, right?’

‘Of course- What?!’

‘Oh look, two of them are mating. How lovely.’

‘What?!’

‘Call me when you get rid of them.’

‘What? No! River, you can’t leave me like that! River!’

 

**#036.**

He knew he’s going to meet her again, but he is not ready to meet her so soon.

Too soon.

He doesn’t want to remember their first encounter. His first encounter of her. He doesn’t want to remember it, wishes he could wipe it out from his memory and yet he can’t forget.

(The knowing look in her eyes, then the overwhelming sadness, crackles of electricity dancing over her broken body.)

He wished their future to be distant or non-existent – even though he knew it happened, at least for her – because he’s not sure how he’s going to stand being around her, knowing what will happen – happened – to her. And so his first reaction when he hears _‘hello, sweetie’_ for the second time in his lives, is to run.

But he’s tired. So, so tired.

Donna is gone.

Rose is gone.

Martha and Jack are gone. So is Mickey.

There’s only so far one can run and he feels like he reached his limits. He let the TARDIS chose her destination and she dropped him on some planet – he didn’t even bother to check its name. He stepped outside, wondering what he’d meet this time: a war? Someone in need of saving?

Instead, he meets River Song.

She’s sitting on a blanket and looks ready for a picnic.

Then he remembers: Asgard.

He’s in Asgard and he’s going to have a picnic with River Song.

He walks slowly to the place where she’s sitting and awkwardly sits down. He’s not sure how to behave.

He’s not sure what to say.

He can’t bring himself to look at her.

(He’s surprised when he sees that she stops sun beams. He half expected her to be see-through.

A pale shadow.

A ghost.

But she’s flesh and bone, and blood, and warm voice and an intake of breath, and hair ruffled by wind.

She’s alive.)

He’s thankful that she doesn’t expect him to speak. She just writes something in that blue diary of hers: it’s old and full of stories to be told and then she just lies down on the blanket, her eyes closed. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do: leave her alone? Watch her? For a few minutes he just stares into the valley in front of them: emerald grass, flowers in full bloom, pink sky and two orange suns.

And then he starts talking.

He tells her about Gallifrey. He tells her about all the places he loved there and how much he misses it. He tells her about Susan. He talks about some brilliant places he visited and he whines about the boring ones. He talks about his companions and friends.

He tells her about Donna.

She never says a word, she never comments, she doesn’t even suggest that she hears anything he says. She just lies there, calm and silent, with light reflected in her curls.

When he can’t speak anymore, he lies next to her. It’s only then when she opens her eyes.

Just in time to watch the double sunset over Asgard.

 

**#705.**

‘Sweetie, what are you doing?’

‘We are going- oh! – We are going to meet Tove Jansson!’

‘And you are going through all your old clothes because?’

‘Because River – no, I wasn’t looking for that... I need a new outfit! Some of my previous selves had horrible sense of style... Hm. But that cape is cool. I like it. Wait. Where was I? Oh yes. River, I am taking you and your parents to meet Tove Jansson!’

‘And you need a new outfit because?’

‘River! Tove Jansson! The Moomins!’

‘Yes, I know what she wrote. Rory had all the books and we read it together. But that doesn’t explain anything, sweetie.’

‘Aha! Here it is! See? This explains everything!’

‘Oh no-‘

‘We are going to dress up and I am going as The Groke!’

‘No, you are not.’

‘I am!’

‘Sweetie, do you remember the last time you wore a long and billowy robe?’

‘River, that’s-‘

‘It was when you re-read all the Harry Potter books. You decided to dress up as a dementor and scare my parents and me.’

‘It was a long time ago!’

‘No, it wasn’t. You dressed up as a dementor and started running down the corridor to the kitchen. And then you tripped, fell down, flat on your face and lost consciousness for a few minutes.’

‘That was- I decided to take a nap!’

‘Yes, and the bruise on your forehead was a proof that the nap was successful? I was sure you are going to regenerate!’

‘... You are a spoilsport.’

‘We can still go to see Tove. She’s a lovely lady.’

‘But it won’t be the same! I want to dress up!’

‘Dress up as Moomintroll.’

‘But he doesn’t wear anything!’

‘Exactly.’

‘River!’

 

**#278.**

When he’s around her, he promises himself that he’ll find a way to save her from the fate that awaits her in The Library.

(When he’s around her, he forgets that dead is dead is dead.)

 

**#1002.**

It’s very quiet in the TARDIS now. Too quiet. In the beginning the silence nearly deafened him, but he’s used to it now. He’s been alone for how long? It could have been weeks or months or years. He can’t really remember. Nor he cares.

He spends the days on his own.

He reads books from the TARDIS’ library.

In the evenings, he walks around London.

He sometimes visits Madame Vastra and Jenny for tea.

He’s done with saving the universe. He’s retired. He should’ve done it a long time ago. He should have... He should have done so many things.

It’s so empty in here. Amy and Rory are gone and it’s like their departure left a permanent physical mark on the TARDIS: the console room that used to be warm and full of light is now bleak and dark. Funny enough, he feels the same way.

_‘You’re getting over dramatic in your old age.’_

No. He shuts his eyes. It’s just a voice in his head, it’s just a voice in his head, it’s just-

_‘It’s a shame you can’t hear me, really. If you did, we could settle things down. Get some closure. It’s really not healthy to stay in this state, sweetie.’_

_She’s not really here_ , he tells himself and goes back to his book.

_She can’t be here,_ another voice in his voice whispers, _because she’s gone. Gone, gone, gone._

River is gone.

Once again, the weight of this statement crashes into him and pulls him under like a tidal wave. He feels like his drowning: in sorrow, in sadness, in grief.

River is gone.

He should’ve seen it coming. He should have used his time with her better. But he thought they have more of it. He hoped that she’d stay longer. He hoped that this time the universe would be merciful and that it’d let her stay. He hoped - still hoped, forever the hopeful idiot – that time can be re-written, that something could be changed. Nothing like that happened.

Instead, it all happened just like she’d described it to him, back there in The Library, just seconds before her death.

He turned up on her doorsteps.

With a new haircut and a suit.

He swooped her off her feet and took her to see The Singing Towers.

The Towers sang.

And he cried. He can still taste these tears on his tongue: bitter and acid, smelling of ash and smoke.

River asked thousands of questions: _What is happening? What’s wrong, my love? What can I do?_ But he just shook his head and kissed her, desperately and breathlessly, trying to remember this single moment, her lips against his, his hands cradling her face, the warmth of her body against him. He tried to show her how he felt, he tried to show her that he lo-

Too late now.

And then he let her go to The Library and now, he’s never going to see her again.

Home is where the heart is. At least that’s what they say.

If his hearts are with the dead, does it mean he’s homeless?

 

**#841.**

He loves spending time with River, no matter at what point of her timeline she is. Sure, sometimes he missed older her: the one who fully knows and understands him, the one who’s not afraid of anything and who’s prepared for anything. This River is probably his favourite: she knows how to knock down his stupid ideas, she doesn’t put up with his nonsense and she’s his wife, in every meaning of his word.

However, he absolutely loves to meet with younger River, the one who’s just in the beginning of their timeline. River in the early Stormcage days - she’s still new to the time travel. She’s bright-eyed and curious, and easily impressed. And oh boy, does he impress her! He tries his best to do so, every single night. Every single night he sends a silent apology to his younger self. Because he remembers how back then, earlier in his timeline, he tried his best to impress River: either with a suave remark or with a travel suggestion and she would just look at him like he’s an adorable puppy. Which in a way he was: stumbling on his legs and trying to keep up with the fireball that was River Song. That’s what you get for having spoiled your young wife rotten. But he loves doing it: he loves the surprise and delight on his face and he’s not going to stop doing that, just so his younger self can have it easier.

He buys her jewels that cost more than entire planets. He buys her books – first editions of anything she desires. He takes her to meet her favourite writers, poets, artists, singers, kings and queens. He shows her a skies full of radiant starts and a skies so dark that he holds her hand the whole time, not to lose her somewhere in the night. He takes her to balls and parties, and concerts, he takes her to the most – and the least – important historical events. He takes her to the most vital archeological digs in the history and he doesn’t comment on how useless they are. He bathes her in stardust and puts a crown of stars onto her head. He buys her dresses made from the most exquisite fabrics, so delicate and thin he can barely feel them under his fingertips when he undresses her at night.

However, there are things he doesn’t do and will never do. He doesn’t whisper sweet nothing into her ear. He doesn’t tell her stories where everything ends well and everyone lives happily ever after. He never says the word ‘ _forever_ ’, because he knows that this word has no meaning for them. It’s not how they work.

They live in stolen moments.

They’re empty spaces in between the stories.

 

**#1372.**

There’s one cosmological theory he’s particularly fond of. It’s called the Big Crunch. Tasty name, you have to admit. But that’s not why he likes this theory so much – well, okay, it’s not the only reason. It’s a possible scenario for the end of the universe. It says that the metric expansion of space eventually reverses and the universe recollapses, ultimately ending as a black hole singularity or causing a reformation of the universe starting with another big bang. Once the space contracts, so will time – to put it bluntly, everything will happen in reverse.

Lovers will make up before they have an argument.

They will fade from a photo before it’s even taken.

A broken cup will reassemble before it breaks. Spilled milk will unspill. The books will get unwritten, the jokes untold, music will become _un_ composed, paintings will become unpainted.

You will meet someone again after you lost them forever. You will _un_ lose them.

A ghost that haunts you will become a person, made of flesh and blood, bones and marrow and you will hold her in your arms again.

Even though you know it’s not how it happens, you still hope it’s true.

You can’t wait to meet her once again.

**Author's Note:**

> this one has been on my hard drive for ages now. can be seen as a companion piece to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/749422), but you don't have to read the first one to understand this one. tbqh, both are a mess. 
> 
> the title comes from Franz Ferdinand's 'The universe expanded', which is a dreadfully awful song that will crush your soul. also, if you decide to listen to it, you'll see that the last part of the fic is heavily inspired by it. I wish I could take credit for this idea, but unfortunately, I can't. neither I can take any credit for the Big Crunch theory. that makes me wonder if I can take credit for anything. probably not. eh. except for typos. if there are any, I am sorry, but it's late and I am too tired to read through it again.


End file.
